(Who) Drives You
by EpsilonPax
Summary: A teenage Annabelle gets her driver's license, but before she can have a car of her own Lennox and the Autobots have a few things to say about it first.
1. Challenge Accepted

**A/N: As always, Bumbee and I do not-and really can't seem to-keep to any one timeline. So here Annabelle is a teenager and Ironhide is still alive and well (no thanks to you Mr. Bay...) **

**Please R & R!  
**

**~~~Epsilon Pax & Bumbee  
**

**###  
**

Annabelle willed herself not to fidget. She would sit still. She _would_. She would sit still and eat her peas. Yes, eat her peas and patiently listen, listen to—

"I'm not going."

Sarah pursed her lips in humored frustration at her husband's stubbornness. "William Lennox we're going."

"You can go. Annabelle can go. Hell, Ironhide can go, but I'm not going."

"_Will_," a dangerous stillness inflated Sarah's tone, "You're on leave so little, and my mother wants to see you. She's making your favorite meatloaf." Her voice became sweet and persuasive even as Lennox's became low and sullen.

"I don't like meatloaf."

"I don't like meatloaf either, Dad." Annabelle beamed at her father, who winked back at her appreciatively. _Yes, that's it_, she thought, _butter him up, get on his good side…_Sarah arched an eyebrow at her daughter; apparently, Annabelle hadn't been as subtle as she had thought.

"Annabelle," Sarah neatly folded her napkin on her now empty plate, "Isn't there something you wanted to ask your father about?"

This was it. Annabelle straightened up in her chair—she _would not_ fidget—lacing her fingers together, prim and proper, and fixed her father with her most grown up, sophisticated look; well, as sophisticated and grown up as seventeen year-old could manage. A grin bloomed across Lennox's face; of course his wife had warned him about this conversation, had told him a serious decision needed to be reached, that he should handle the matter with tact, but now that the moment was actually here…inside he wanted to giggle.

"Dad," Annabelle began very soberly, "I passed my drivers test. I got my drivers license."

"Oh really?" He tried for nonchalant, "That's great Jelly-Belle, I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks," Her chair squeaked in restlessness, "Um…I'm not sure if you remember, but we made a deal that if I kept my grades up, passed my driving test and saved up a little…"

Lennox bobbed his head in understanding, "…then I would chip in and help you get a car."

A nervous smile turned up her lips, "Yup…" even inch of her wanted to ask, _So…?_

Spearing his last piece of grilled chicken with his fork, Lennox leaned back in his chair and chewed thoughtfully. Of course he had already come to a decision, had made it long before he had even pulled up the driveway that morning. Though, Annabelle didn't know that and it was never a bad thing to put up at least a little bit of a show. Swallowing his last mouthful, Lennox leaned forward again.

"Tell you what Jelly-Belle, I'll honor our deal, I will—" Annabelle's stomach did cartwheels of joy, "—but…with an added condition."

Her bubble of hope popped with a terrific splash, "…What?"

"I'll help you get a car—"

"—a decent car!" Annabelle quickly added.

"—a safe car!" Sarah interjected.

Lennox chuckled, "I'm not going to give her a junker," he consoled his wife.

Annabelle lifted a finger at him, "Yeah, but you can't pull a Mr. Witwicky."

"What's a Mr. W—?"

"Uncle Sam warned me about how his dad cheaped out on him—"

Lennox swallowed a laugh, "Annabelle, if Sam's dad hadn't 'cheaped out' on him, he wouldn't have found Bumblebee."

"Still…you can't cheap out on me!"

Sarah perched her dainty chin on the palm of her hand, "You know, Will…I rather like the idea of you stumbling over another Autobot that can pall around with Annabelle all the time, everywhere she goes…"

"As if Ironhide, Bumblebee and Wheeljack don't do that enough!"

"Alright, alright, enough now." Lennox fixed her with a serious look, "These are the terms take them or leave them. I will help you get a decent car if and only if you can pass a driving test of my choosing."

Warily, Annabelle narrowed her eyes, "…no tricks?"

"No tricks."

Still, Annabelle hesitated, something whispered at the back of her brain, told her that her father was up to something. One glance at her mother and Annabelle was convinced that she was in on whatever this was too.

"Take it or leave it Annabelle."

She chewed her lip, "Can I think about it?"

"Nope, offer expires as soon as you get up from the table."

He was up to something…she knew it. But she wanted a car, wanted one desperately. She'd be one of the few to have one in her class, which would mean she'd be instantly cool the moment she parked on campus…

In the end, her yearning for a car of her own won out, "Yeah, ok. Deal."

Lennox grinned as he rose from the table, "Good, that's settled then," easily he scooped up his plate, "Now help clean the dishes and get some sleep because you start first thing in the morning."

Annabelle froze, her mind stuck on the impossibility of his command, "B-but…I have school first thing in the morning…a-and hang on here, you have to tell me what the test is!"

"Right, right…" Lennox stood casually by the kitchen door, "Here it is: you must last one week, that's Monday through Friday driving with an Autobot and get their approval of your driving skills."

Annabelle's jaw dropped. This was either going to be blissfully easy, perhaps the best week of her life…or the worst. "I…I…um…"

Lennox grinned, "Right, sleep well!"

"Wait! Hang on a sec! Do I get to at least choose who I'll be spending the week with?"

His smile didn't falter, "Nope."

"Did _you_ choose?"

"Annabelle, one does not choose an Autobot…all I did was ask Optimus to ask one of the bots to volunteer."

Skeptically she eyed her father, "Wait…who did you come home with?" But before he could answer, Annabelle bolted out of her chair, making for the front door with all speed.

"Annabelle!" Lennox sounded way too pleased with himself.

Flinging the door open she stopped flat at the sight of the hulking black pickup truck parked in the driveway. She grinned recklessly. This was going to be the best week. Ever.

"Why do you look so happy, spark-mite?" Ironhide growled affectionately.

"Oh I knew you'd come through for me Uncle 'Hide!"

Ironhide barked a laugh, "Oh no, Annabelle. I am not here to help you with your exam."

Annabelle's heart sank, "W-why not?"

"Because I am biased."

"Aw, thank you Ironhide, that makes me feel better."

"Biased against you passing."

"_Ironhide!"_

"Humans cannot drive, and you are no exception. I'm sorry, Annabelle."

Her nerves sang, "Well that was mean."

"It is the truth and not my fault that humans have evolved with reflexes that are pitifully inept to—"

"—I get it, Ironhide." Annabelle rubbed her temples, "So…who is coming then? Who is going to spend the week with me?" Timid hope flared within her as her thoughts turned to Bumblebee or Sideswipe, surely her childhood friends—and fierce protectors—wouldn't let her down. After all, if this was something that they could volunteer for she couldn't imagine Bee or Sideswipe not wanting to spend time with her.

"I do not know."

As if from a great distance his words collided with her, "What do you mean you don't know?"

"Prime did not inform me of his choice before I left."

"Wait…_his choice?_ So Papa Bot made the decision?" A rush of adrenaline tickled her stomach in a rather unpleasant way; if left up to Optimus this might be a harder challenge than she thought. He would choose someone who would actually test her, who would teach her to drive his interpretation of safe. Her hopes of seeing Bumblebee or Sideswipe show up in the morning began to dwindle.

"Do not be discouraged Annabelle," Ironhide rolled forward, enough to touch his bumper against her, instinctively she rested her hands atop the warm chrome, taking comfort from the living metal, "It is not your fault that your species is incapable of producing proficient drivers."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You are welcome."


	2. Day One

When Annabelle woke the next morning, she had no inclination whatsoever to move from her comfortable nest of blankets and pillows. It was not the last time dread of the coming day had crept into her limbs, made them limp and lethargic. But it was the first time that such trepidation was caused by the Autobots. She could no longer count the number of times she had wanted to avoid going to school because of exams, homework she didn't do, or to avoid a certain boy who she had asked to a dance and who had said no…but never had she not wanted to see one of the Autobots. Truly she loved them as much as she did her own family, scrap, they _were_ family, so this growing anxiety that had settled in her stomach already, that now hummed along her nerves was new in completely terrifying sort of way.

After her alarm clock buzzed insistently for the fourth time, Annabelle heaved a sigh and tossed her covers aside; there was no help for it, if she didn't get up now, she'd be late for school. Yet, as she busied herself with her morning routine she took great care to stay away from windows, to avoid any temptation to look outside and find out for certain who had come through for her. The still tenaciously lingering hope for Bumblebee or Sideswipe—or that maybe Ironhide had been joking and really was going to give her this last exam—caused a flutter in her chest that made her feel lightheaded, just as the fear that any other bot might be there filled her gut with rocks. _Primus, please not the twins…not the twins…_Grown impatient by the unknown at last, Annabelle briskly tied her bright blonde locks back into a practical ponytail and then promptly marched up to the nearest window that overlooked the front of the house.

Long moments lingered stubbornly on as the reality of the coming week settled in about her shoulders. It was only after she wrestled with the fact of who waited for her in the driveway, only after she contended with the familiar paint scheme, the powerful lines of their vehicular guise that emotion set in. Foremost of which was frustration that came roaring to the forefront of her consciousness, guided her actions.

"Really?" She huffed as she dug out her cell phone and punched in a well-used number, "_Really?"_ She continued to mouth as the dial-tone rang in her ear, "What is Optimus thinking?! This is…is…just mean! I can believe that Papa Bot would do this to me! That—"

A voice thick with sleepiness answered, "Hullo?"

"This isn't funny! I hope you didn't help them with this little scheme!"

Confused and still caught in the gauze of sleep, the voice wasn't quick to respond, "Wha? Annabelle? Do you know what time it is? Whatsa matter?"

"Uncle Sam you have to do something! You have to talk some sense into both of them!"

"Who? Wha? Why? Annabelle I'm not sure…I don't understand…"

"Uncle Sam, please! You can't let them do this! It isn't funny! I know my Dad put him up to this, but I think Optimus has the wrong idea! This isn't going to work! He's trying to sabotage me-!"

"Annabelle?" Lennox's voice drifted up to her from downstairs, "What's all that noise? Who are you talking to?" There was the heavy and cautious tread of her father as he ascended the stairs, but Annabelle beat him to the top of the landing. Glaring wrathfully—a talent she had adeptly picked up from her mother—she thrust the phone at her father with a last shout into the receiver: "You better talk some sense into him, Uncle Sam!"

"Witwicky?" Lennox asked both of the phone and of Annabelle.

"Lennox?" Sam was equally flummoxed.

"Yeah…what's going on? Why are you calling? Is everything alright over there? You and Carly ok?"

"Yeah, yeah everything's good Will, Carly and I are fine…but I…I have no idea…I mean to say, its not that I don't enjoy talkin' to you, but…um…why is Annabelle all upset? Why am I supposed to talk sense into you? What did Optimus do? Why is he sabotaging her? What's going on?"

"Oh, you're supposed to talk sense into me, are you?" Realization dawned, and curtly Lennox pointed down the stairs and toward the kitchen as he barked at Annabelle in none too sympathetic tones, "You. Downstairs. Breakfast. Then ship out and shove off in ten minutes! No excuses!" As his daughter gapped back at him, Lennox turned his back to her to casually descend the steps, "I know what happened here, Sam and I'm sorry that Annabelle woke you up so rudely"—this last word was tossed back at Annabelle—" But you see, she wants a new car and…" Lennox's voice faded as he turned the corner, chatting with Sam within the safety of his office as he explained about the deal that had been struck the night before.

Recognizing defeat, Annabelle listlessly grabbed her backpack as she grumbled to no one in particular, "You can at least give me back my phone…" Breakfast was a tasteless affair only because she knew who waited for her outside. This was going to be a long week. A bad week. Everyone was going to mock her to no end. Really, how was she supposed to explain the fact that she could drive a—

"This was your decision, you agreed to your father's terms," Sarah chastised her as Annabelle sulked toward the front door, "If you really want a car, you better change your attitude right quick and in a hurry, and make the best of it. Beside you and him have always got along so well!"

"But, Mom! You don't understand! How am I supposed to explain—"

"—Annabelle Lennox! You march outside right now—!"

"—I mean, they're supposed to be in _disguise! That_ is hardly a disguise in a high school parking lot!—"

"—You _will_ go say hello! You _will_ be polite! And you _will_ thank him for coming out all this way, for volunteering and—"

"—He didn't volunteer, Mom! Papa Bot choose him, so—"

But Sarah would not be moved, "That makes no difference and you know it." With a firm grip, Lennox's wife guided her stubborn daughter the remaining steps out of the door. As Annabelle turned around to protest again, Sarah deftly dropped a set of car keys in her hand and then, without another word, promptly stepped back into the house and shut the door.

Dumbstruck, Annabelle could only look down at the car keys her mother had given her. "Keys? _Keys?_ Since when do the 'bots have _keys?"_

"They're a facsimile," A very solemn voice answered, " Since I am to be masquerading as your vehicle, it would only make sense for you to have keys. Prime and I both thought of it." He sounded rather pleased with himself; Annabelle could only hope that was a sign of a good mood. "Good morning, Annabelle. Shouldn't we begin? I believe if we do not increase our productivity by at least 15% you will be tardy for your educational career."

Annabelle opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping for air as she tried to come up with a reply. Giving up, she at last resigned herself to her fate and walked over to him, greeting him with a sigh, "Good morning, Ratchet…thank you for coming and agreeing to help me…"

"I am not sure if one could call it agreeing. Prime sent me, and one does not dispute the will of a Prime."

"Oh…" Annabelle shifted her backpack from one shoulder to the next, uncomfortable as she stood beside the bright yellow and white trimmed emergency vehicle.

"Well?" He prompted.

"Well…" She toyed with the zipper on her sweatshirt, "Well…its just that…I know you like this vehicle form, and that it makes sense for you—"

"—I am the senior medical officer, Annabelle, it only logical as well as practical for me to appropriate this mode."

"—Right, I understand that…but you don't understand…high school students are not allowed to drive ambulances…"

The silence that fell was complete.

"Look…if you could maybe, just for this week, loose the logos?"

"I refuse to remove my Autobot insignia."

"I know! I know!" Quickly she tried for a placating tone, " Keep it! Looks great! But just the decals that say 'Fire Department…Search and Rescue? And maybe ditch the emergency lights?"

There was stream of grumbling, most of it not in English, as Ratchet considered—and probably contacted Prime—but he at last consented to her logic and altered his paint so that now he was a solid, civilian yellow. "Better?" he grumped.

She gave him her best smile, "Thank you, Ratchet."

"Yes, yes…come, come now."

She shuffled her feet, but still didn't move.

"Oh, what is it now?"

"Couldn't you open the door for me?"

"That would not be keeping with the agreed masquerade, for humans do not have the capability of manufacturing vehicles that can open of—"

"Look, I don't care what you and Papa Bot thought up, I am not using a key on you."

There was a thick rush of air as he ex-vented impatiently but after a moment he popped open his door just enough so that she could open it the rest of the way; any on looker would have thought that she had opened it by herself. Taking a deep breath Annabelle hopped up into his driver's seat and closed the door as gently as she could, _I'm bolding going where no one has gone before_, she thought dryly to herself as she dropped her backpack into his passenger seat.

"Remember, I am here only as an informed observer. You will be driving and I will only intervene should any mishap become imminent."

"Ok then…" Nervous, Annabelle wiped her palms on her jeans—not even Bumblebee had ever let her drive him, at least not really—wondering what it must have been like for Sam when he had been driving Bee, before he knew who and what Bee was, Annabelle placed her left hand on Ratchet's steering wheel and with her right attempted to shift into reverse.

Scarcely had her hand closed around the shifter, when Ratchet's voice barked out crisply, "You cannot shift into reverse if you have not turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. Minus one point!"

Annabelle froze, "You're keeping _points_?!"

"Of course, how else could I then give you an accurate assessment of passing or failing?" He returned mildly, as he reiterated evenly, "Minus one point."

Seeing no other way around it, and recognizing how committed he was to his role, Annabelle reluctantly fitted the key her mother had given her into the ignition and turned it gingerly. Relief coursed through her when his engine growled to life. When he continued to remain silent, Annabelle took it as a sign of approval of sorts and shifted into reverse. But when she began to ease off the break, nothing happened. He didn't move.

"Minus one point." He sounded almost cheerful.

"_What?"_

"You failed to adjust the mirrors to an angle appropriate for someone of your stature and you did not disengage the emergency brake."

Annabelle clenched her teeth, but not wanting to start an argument and put him in a bad mood, she instead opted to follow his instructions. After doing so, she once again began to ease off the brake, watching her side view mirrors for any on coming traffic. But once again, nothing happened, he didn't move.

"Minus one point."

"Oh come on! What now?"

"Seatbelt. You're not wearing your seatbelt."

This time there was a considerable less amount of gentility in her touch as she reached over her left shoulder for the seat belt and roughly clicked it into place. "Happy?"

"Thrilled."

Again, she began to ease off the brake.

"Did you check your mirrors?"

"Yes!"

"All of your mirrors?"

"Yes!"

"Not your rearview mirror."

"Yes I did!"

"Annabelle, I was following your optics, you did not check your rearview mirror for any on coming traffic or obstructions."

"Yes I did!"

He ex-vented again, "Minus half a point."

"That's not fair!"

"It is fair because I am right."

Annabelle let out a growl of frustration as she bowed her head forward, letting her forehead bang against the steering wheel.

"That is not an appropriate driving or viewing position. You cannot see the road from such a position. Minus one point."

Primus help her, it was going to be a _long_ day.


	3. Observe Your Surroundings

"Minus one point."

"Oh for Primus sake!"

This, this was what she had been dreading all day. For once, she had wanted the school day to extend for hours and hours on end. She rather take her Algebra midterm twice more than have to listen to Ratchet gripe at her driving abilities the moment she came into ear shot. Annabelle gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

"Stop that!" Ratchet's tone was pinched, "That is most uncomfortable."

Understanding that she was inadvertently hurting him, Annabelle willingly complied, though she was certainly still frustrated with him, and growing more so by each moment.

"Minus half a point."

"Oh for _what?_"

"You hands are in the incorrect position; they are not at, how you phrase it, 'ten and two.' "

Knowing better than to respond with sass—such would only result in more point deductions—Annabelle settled for a great, long suffering sigh. Moments later she was rewarded with an almost melodic beep as she was momentarily blinded by a soft blue light that washed over her.

"Annabelle, that was an unnecessary and over exaggerated respiratory action…are you alright? Have you been taking your inhaler?"

This time, she rolled her eyes, "I don't need an inhaler, Ratch, I haven't had an asthma attack in years."

"Annabelle—"

"Oh, c'mon Doc Bot, I'm fine!"

"Annabelle—"

"Seriously, don't be so paranoid, I wasn't having an asthma a—"

"Annabelle Lennox!"

The sudden bite and sharp edge to his voice served to wrest Annabelle to attention, telling her instinctively that something was wrong. Though before she could react, looking for whatever had caused him to snap at her, Ratchet intervened, locking up his brakes so that they came to an abrupt, and none too gentle, but safe stop just short of the cross walk lines of the intersection.

"Annabelle," Ratchet's voice was stiff with frustration, "Yellow means caution! It is a warning to slow and ultimately stop!"

"I know…" For once Annabelle was meek under the harshness of his reprimand.

"Then why didn't you decelerate? Had I not acted we would have crossed illegally into the intersection and risked colliding with another vehicle."

"It wouldn't have been illegal, Ratchet. So long as you cross into the intersection before the light turns red, its fine."

"It is most certainly not fine! It is not safe!"

Recognizing that he was working himself into a real temper, Annabelle thought to deflect some of his frustration away from her, "Relax Ratchet, my Dad does it all the time—"

"He _what_?"

"—and Ironhide always told me that—"

"—_Do not_ listen to anything Ironhide says regarding your traffic regulations." Ratchet grumbled, "There is a reason I am teaching you and he is not."

"Yeah, I know, I know. He already told me he was biased and that he would have failed me—"

"No, that is not why. It is because Ironhide has a tendency to display a…disregard…for your traffic laws. When your father approached Prime with this proposal—"

Annabelle smacked the steering wheel, "Ah ha! So this was his plan from the start! He _is_ conspiring against me getting a car of my own!"

Ratchet merely ignored her, "—Prime wanted to be sure that the bot he sent you with had a higher regard, and understanding, of human traffic laws."

"…Bee's a good driver…so is Sideswipe…and Dino…"Annabelle sulked a little.

"Judging from the quantity of speeding infractions that Sam and Bumblebee have accrued together, I would disagree."

There wasn't much she could say to that; after all, even she couldn't deny or ignore the reputation that Sam and Bee had for speeding. How many times had she seen them get pulled over on their way to base? Granted, most of the time it was Prowl who chased them—lucky for Sam, otherwise he probably would have lost his license long ago—which, of course, only made Bee drive faster… "Yeah, but…I bet most of that was Sam's fault…Bee knows how to be safe…"

"I disagree."

Annabelle rolled her eyes again, drumming her fingertips against the steering wheel as she waited for the light to turn green, "Of course you disagree! You and Prime are the only two bots who refuse to take yellow lights!"

"That is not true."

"Really? When was the last time either of you ran a red light when you were not being chased by a Decepticon or chasing a Decepticon?"

There was a considering silence.

"Yup, my point exactly."

"Annabelle—"

"Nope, no way around it Ratchet—"

"_Annabelle_—"

"—You and Papa Bot are the slowest drivers on base and—"

Suddenly, there was a chorus of annoyed honking that resounded from behind them, interrupting her. Startled she looked into the rear view mirror to try and see what had happened.

"Annabelle," Weary annoyance colored his tone, "Annabelle, do not look behind…look forward. The light is green, you may cross this intersection."

"Oh…" A blush of frustration crept into her cheeks, as sheepishly she accelerated. A fierce and sudden longing to be home filled her; home where she wouldn't have to drive, wouldn't have to listen to Ratchet deduct points from her, listen to him as he slowly chiseled away at her chance of getting a car of her own…

"Annabelle, I feel I must discuss your parking habits with you."

Caught off guard, Annabelle blinked, clueless.

"Today, when we arrived at your school, you chose a parking spot that was not only the farthest from the building, but out of view of the structure."

"Um…" Annabelle chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. She had done it on purpose, not wanting to face the cutting remarks, the stares, hadn't wanted to walk out of classes at the end of the day and in front of everyone walk up to what was clearly a modified emergency vehicle.

"Annabelle, it is not safe to park so far away from your destination, particularly if you are returning to your vehicle after dark, when you are most likely to be attacked or ambushed."

"Is that why you moved?" Annabelle glared at the dashboard, not quite ready to forgive the fact that somehow, in the middle of the day, he had moved without anyone noticing. Instead of remaining in the discrete parking spot she had chosen, he had moved to the first row of cars, right out in the open where everyone could see him. She had escaped from her Chemistry class at the end of the day only to be confronted by rolling laughter and giggles as other students pointed at Ratchet, each speculating at who drove 'that horrid, oversized yellow thing.' Annabelle had taken refuge in the library, hiding behind stacks of books for an extra hour, waiting until most of the students had gone home for the day before she had dared to emerge, moving as fast as she could from the anonymity of the building before diving into his front seat, and pulling out of the parking lot as fast as he would let her.

"Yes, of course." He replied mildly, "You see it is of utmost importance that you remain observant of your surroundings and—"

Annabelle simply tuned Ratchet out as she at long last turned into her neighborhood; relief coursed through her as her house came into view. Home, home at last! Her spirits lifted when she caught sight of Ironhide parked so patiently in the driveway with her father leaning against the weapon specialist's bumper, casually chatting. Yet, so focused was she on getting home that she neglected to check her speed. On the last turn, the ground sloped sharply upwards, and carelessly, Annabelle did not bother to brake. Moments later she was rewarded with the agonizing sound of the asphalt scraping against Ratchet's undercarriage.

Immediately, he slammed on his brakes and came to a rough and squealing halt.

"Ratchet, I-I'm sorry! I didn't m-mean to-!"

"Take. Your. Hands. Off. My. Steering wheel." Ratchet dropped each word with biting precision. Her heart sinking into her stomach, Annabelle mutely nodded as she obeyed, tears building up behind her eyes as Ratchet drove them the rest of the way home, pulling cautiously into the driveway and parking beside Ironhide.

"Ratchet…"Annabelle tried in a watery voice, but it was no good, the damage was done.

"Out, Annabelle."

Hiccupping, and kissing her dreams of a car goodbye, Annabelle gingerly grabbed her backpack and ducked out of his front seat, making a beeline for the door, completely ignoring her father and Ironhide as she focused on her mission to reach her room and lock herself inside.

"…Everything ok?" Cautious, Lennox approached the medic, rapping his knuckles gingerly against the hood of his terrestrial guise.

"Your offspring—!" Ratchet began to thunder, but Ironhide cut him off.

"She is but a sparkling, Hatchet."

"She lacked any and all regard for—"

"—She's still learning," Ironhide growled.

"—C'mon Doc Bot, it couldn't have been that bad." Lennox dared to interject.

Ratchet seemed to quiver on his wheels, ex-venting in annoyed huffs before he managed to stammer, "—My undercarriage!"

Ironhide barked out the laugh that Lennox didn't dare let escape, "Caught you on that last turn did she?"

"_It is not amusing!" _

"The only thing she wounded was your pride, you old slaggard."

Leaving Ironhide to give Ratchet the hassling he no doubt had given Annabelle all day, Lennox retreated; Ironhide was the only bot who could dish Ratchet's temper back at him, and no matter how much Lennox wanted to stay for the show, he knew that there was a storm brewing—an emotional teenage girl storm—back inside his house that needed to be dealt with first.


	4. Midnight Snack

"Annabelle..."

Lennox scrubbed his hands over his face, knowing he wasn't going to get an answer. He'd been trying for a solid hour now with little to no result in summoning his daughter out of her room.

"Come on...you can talk to me. What happened?

"You know what happened!" At last came the muffled voice of his daughter. She sounded more than a little angry. Angry was just fine, angry he could handle. It was when girls turned weepy on him that he didn't know what do to.

"You a-and Ratchet and everyone is trying to sabotage me!" Annabelle's voice accosted him through the door again; Lennox couldn't help but roll his eyes at her dramatics, thankful that she couldn't see him.

"No one is trying to sabotage you-"

"Oh really? Then give me back my phone!"

Ah, so that's what this show of dramatics was about. Lennox turned to rest his shoulder against the door, marveling at how attached she was to her cell phone. Take it away and she acted like he had chopped off a limb.

"We talked about this. I'm not giving you your phone back because we both know you'd just call up Optimus and complain. And I'm not going to have you go and pester the Leader of the Autobots just because you're having a hard time with your driving test."

Sulking in her frustration, safe within her room Annabelle buried her chin in the soft folds of one of her favored childhood toys: a fluffy and oversized stuffed bumblebee. Gripping it tightly she tucked herself in the corner of her bed, farthest from the door and right next to her bedroom window. "I'm not having a hard time with the test..." She told her stuffed bumblebee, toying with its velvet wings, "Ratchet is just being unreasonable...and unfair..."

"I heard that." Lennox's voice reached her through the other side of her door.

"I'm still not talking to you!" Annabelle shot back, "You set this up!"

"I'm not trying to trick you Annabelle," wearily Lennox stepped away from the door, " I just want what's best for you...I want you to learn to be a good driver...a safe driver...and I could think of no better teacher than the 'bots. That's the only reason I 'set this up'. Look, if you hate this so much, if you want to back out now that's fine...but you'll have to save up for a car on your own." Lennox shook his head, "I expect your decision in the morning." And with that, Lennox did the one thing that every instinct within him as a soldier, as a father, despised: he retreated.  
Annabelle listened intently as the sound of her father's footsteps diminished, at last vanishing entirely as he walked downstairs. Too tired to do homework, too angry and frustrated to go downstairs for dinner, but too hungry to sleep, Annabelle rolled over and clicked her light off, plunging the room into blackness. Nestling herself in the corner of her bed again, she tucked herself up against the coolness of her window pane, letting her gaze drift outside without really seeing anything. In this manner she settled herself in for the night, waiting, hoping that sleep would catch her.

#

She didn't know when drowsiness had crept in, had closed her eyelids without her knowing and folded her away in its embrace. But when she awoke, having spent no little time drifting in the tides of slumber, the house was quiet. Her muscles ached from having been tucked in such an awkward position for so long, and grimacing she stretched, glancing over at her alarm clock as she did so. 11:59pm the wavering red digital read out told her.

Her stomach rumbled ominously, annoyed at being empty. Briefly she considered sneaking downstairs for a midnight raid on the fridge, but the sudden appearance of a soft blue glow from her window stopped her. Startled she sprang up and away from the window, just as a familiar voice growled at her.

"Good evening, spark-mite."

The tension rushed from her body at the sound of that voice and she grinned, "Ironhide... what are you doing?"

This close to his countenance, Annabelle could hear the soft click of his optics as his blinked, "I am speaking with you."

"You're spying on me!" She teased, "What if I had been asleep?"

"But you are not."

"Well yes, but what if I had been?"

"Then I would have disturbed your recharge cycle."

Annabelle narrowed her eyes as she studied her guardian-Ironhide did nothing without purpose-dropping her stuffed bumblebee, she jumped back up on her bed to open the window. Having removed the screen long ago when she was younger for this very same purpose, she leaned forward, reaching out with an arm to rest her palm against his nose. Ironhide ex vented at her touch, but did not move away.

"I see you are still dressed," he grumbled, and Annabelle could feel the vibration of his voice through her arm, "Good."  
"Good? Why good?"

"You're coming with me."

Not objecting she readily began to clamber up onto the windowsill, balancing herself before stepping out onto his waiting palm he held up for her. "Are you kidnaping me?" She teased even as he lowered her to the ground. Any retort he may have made was swallowed up in the click and clatter of his transformation. Nervous that the noise would wake up her parents—or at the very least her Dad, who seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the bots being around—Annabelle glanced back up at the house, but, to her relief, her parents window remained dark, the light off.

"Come, come I do not have all night." Ironhide growled as his driver's side door swung open for her. Annabelle was quick to dart inside, tucking her bare feet beneath her, glad of the warmth of his soft seats after the night-chilled concrete of her driveway. With a warm and thick sound his engine turned over and he pulled out of the driveway. Timidly Annabelle peered out of his window, looking for Ratchet, but surprisingly the medic was nowhere to be found.

"Hey 'Hide? Where's Ratchet?"

Ironhide huffed, his engine snarling, "He went for a drive to clear his processor."

Annabelle toyed with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, "Does…does he still want to stay? To…give me my exam?"

"Yes." Ironhide's answer was quick and confident.

Still uncertain, Annabelle continued to press the matter, "Are you sure?"

"Yes…why would you ask?"

"Well…I wanted him to make the choice to give me the exam…I don't want him to put up with me just because Papa Bot said for him to."

"Foolish, sparkling." Ironhide grumbled in unison with Annabelle's stomach. At the discordant sound, Ironhide huffed, "Foolish, foolish sparkling…look behind the seat." Curious—and hungry—Annabelle was keen to do so; and found a tidy Tupperware container with leftovers from her parent's dinner: mashed potatoes, corn, string beans and meatloaf. She couldn't help but smirk at the sight of the meatloaf; clearly it was her mother making a point to her father that he did in fact like meatloaf, just as he should, in fact, go visit his mother-in-law.

"Do not spill anything." Ironhide gruffly warned as Annabelle eagerly popped the top off of the container and, upon finding the fork that had been packed along with it, promptly dug into the belated meal. A surge of gratitude toward Ironhide warmed her stomach as surely as the food began to fill it.

"Where did you get this from?" She asked around bites, then paused as realization dawned: only her mother would have thought to pack the leftovers in such a way, not to mention only she could have persuaded Ironhide to take them. Which would mean… "Hang on…did you plan this? Did you plan this with my parents?"

"No…"

"You're a terrible liar."

"Very well…I will rephrase…I did not plan this in its entirety. Your mother approached me after you went into recharge and gave me that package." Which meant her mother had known Annabelle's habit to sneak out to the garage or wherever Ironhide was parked, and sleep in his cab whenever she was upset.

"Uh huh..." Annabelle swallowed her last mouthful just as Ironhide pulled into a vast and vacant parking lot. Packing the container away, Annabelle wiped her hands on her pants—mindful not to spill a morsel—as she leaned forward, taking in their surroundings. "What are we doing here?" She recognized the lot as belonging to an old office complex that had gone out of business months ago; the building and the adjoining parking lot had long been abandoned.

"Practice."

"What?" No, wait why?"

"I believe you know why, sparkling."

Annabelle flushed, resistance springing into her words, "Did Ratchet put you up to this?"

Ironhide barked a laugh, "Of course not…" Becoming somber he addressed her anew, "Spark-mite, I, just like Ratchet, want you to be happy. It seems as though for that to happen you must pass this exam…for that reason, I want you to succeed and I intend to help you. Now…shall we begin?"

Resolute, Annabelle shook her head, "Thanks 'Hide, but I don't think so…You heard Ratchet, its hopeless…"

Ironhide settled into his shocks, getting comfortable before he spoke up again, "Long before you were forged, sparkling, it was my programming to train warriors of all makes and models, to prepare them to defend all that we Autobots strive always to preserve and protect."

Curious, Annabelle shifted forward every so slightly; it was unlike Ironhide to wax and wane into parables, to say nothing of sharing stories from his past. So, although he clearly wanted to convey a moral to her of some kind, Annabelle found that she couldn't help but to be interested, caught up in the cadence of his voice.

Recognizing that he had captured her attention, his basso rolled on, "Many bots came to me for training, and there were some that were clearly more skilled than others. But there came a cycle when one bot, a bot that had already achieved his third and final frame, came to me. Although his programming was so far removed from the trials and tribulations of warfare and tactics, and although he was countless cycles older than my previous students, I accepted him. It took him megacycle after megacycle to catch on, for the lessons to take hold. For too long he was consistently at the bottom of the class, but, overtime, he improved."

Sighing, Annabelle bobbed her head, "I know, I know you're trying to tell me that practice makes perfect right?"

"No my sparkling…it is persistence and the belief, the desire to achieve your goal, to hit your target, that will help you attain your objective. You must believe in yourself. Everybot makes mistakes, but that does not mean you'll always fail."

Annabelle's instinctive resistance fell away as she considered his words. Trusting she would come to the right conclusion, Ironhide let his engine roar to life once more. "Are you ready to begin?"

Ironhide's trust, his confidence in her, bolstered her own wounded self-esteem, so that when she took the wheel, reassured by the warmth of it, she was no longer tired, frustrated or ready to give up, to give in. She smiled, "Teach me, 'Hide."

"Let us review what you did today…"

And so it went, first in slow and timid movements as she adjusted to the sensation of guiding her guardian, her closest friend. Unlike Ratchet, she wasn't as fearful to take risks, to try new things, wasn't constantly afraid of impending rebukes or of accidently hurting him in anyway; Ironhide was a strong bot, he could take it and best of all, he didn't snap at her. Only after Annabelle had successfully backed into a parking spot, did Ironhide declare her proficient enough for the time being. But by the time they had returned home, and Ironhide had helped her slip back in through her window, it was already inching past 2:33 am; and to think, she had school tomorrow!

Just as Ironhide was turning away from her window, presumably to transform and settle in for a few hours of recharge, Annabelle called out to him, "Hey 'Hide?...who was the bot you were talking about? Who was it that struggled so much?"

Ironhide flickered his optics at her, "Long ago, a bot came to me asking for training. He wanted to know how to defend himself, how to defend those he cared for…At first I told him no, that I could not help him and that I would not train him…"

"What changed your mind?"

"Who…" Ironhide gently corrected, "Who changed my processor was Prime. He came to me and told me how this bot had recently been caught in a Decepticon ambush… how he had watched, helplessly, as his sparkmate was offlined right before his optics. He had been able to do nothing then…and, although it was too late for his sparkmate, he wanted to do what he could, to learn what he could, so that he would never again have to stand helplessly by…"

"Who…who was it?"

With no little consideration, Ironhide at last replied, "Tomorrow morning, give Ratchet another chance. He wants to help you, sparkling, truly he does…give him a chance…as I did." With that he transformed into his terrestrial guise and returned to his favored spot in the driveway, settling in for a fulfilling recharge; his wayward sparkling had much to think about.


	5. Collision Course

"Good morning…?" Annabelle tried as she timidly approached the vibrantly painted emergency vehicle that waited in their driveway.

There was a low warning grumbling from within the vehicle, before at last he rumbled, "It is indeed morning. Though if it is a good one still remains to be seen."

Nervously Annabelle chewed the inside of her cheek, her backpack heavy as it dangled from one arm, her free hand wrapped around a travel mug of tea, "Still mad?"

"Disappointed." He corrected and Annabelle's shoulders wilted, "I am disappointed…because a daughter of Lennox can do better." Annabelle fidgeted under Ratchet's cool response and parked beside him, Ironhide growled within his engine as he spoke to the medic, his deep basso lower in timber than usual, a warning of his formidable temper, "Doc Bot…"

"It's ok 'Hide…I understand if Ratchet doesn't want to—"

Ratchet rocked on his tires, sputtering, "Enough! The both of you! I will not be swayed into an opinion other than my own." The medic ex-vented once more before he addressed himself to Annabelle, "Now…I stand by my previous statement. I am disappointed in the driving abilities you have demonstrated so far. I had hoped that from being around us for so long would have had a positive influence on you, perhaps even given you an ideal opportunity to learn more in the way of Earth traffic laws than many others your age. However, it seems as though our continuous presence has led you to become lackadaisical in your driving education. For this I am sorry, and, the only reasonable response I can have is to make it my duty to correct such lapses. So yes, Annabelle, I am disappointed in your progress, but we have the opportunity here to oversee your education, and so oversee it we will."

"So…you're staying?" She didn't know whether to feel grateful and hopeful or depressed and insulted.

In the way of a response, Ratchet opened his driver side door, his tone softened, "Come, Annabelle, it is best that we continue on with your education. We will make a decent driver of you yet."

Knowing it was as much encouragement as she could hope for from him, Annabelle let a smile bloom as she moved to quickly comply. To Ratchet's credit, he didn't even complain or comment when she tossed her backpack onto his passenger seat with more gusto than was necessary; gathering his patience about him, Ratchet chose to merely interpret such excess energy as renewed enthusiasm. Such a perception seemed to be fairly accurate as Annabelle began to settle herself. Clearing her throat meaningfully, Annabelle recited a list of actions as she completed them, an idea Ironhide had suggested.

Mildly curious, Ratchet listened as she trimmed her movements with commentary: "Fasten seatbelt…check and readjust all mirrors…" this she punctuated with an exaggerated movement of her head as she looked from mirror to mirror, "…key into ignition…start engine…disengage emergency break…switch into reverse gear…check mirrors…ease off the brake…"

"Be aware of your surroundings in their entirety, Annabelle…" Ratchet couldn't help but caution gently, though with no little concern as Annabelle began to drift closer and closer to Ironhide in her efforts to back out of the driveway.

"I am, Doc Bot, I am…" Annabelle's gaze remained fastened on her rear view mirror, "See…no one is behind me…no oncoming traffic…"

Closer and closer, now his bright yellow side was only eleven inches away from Ironhide's, "Yes…but it is not oncoming traffic that concerns me at the moment…"

"Spark-mite…"Ironhide spoke up, torn between wanting to show his confidence in his human ward and remain stationary, while he simultaneously fought the urge to move out of a desire to save his own finish from any unnecessary damage.

"No one is coming! And look, I'm not even going to hit our mailbox at the end of the driveway—"

Closer and closer, now eight inches, now five, now four…

"Annabelle…"

Now three and a half…now three…

Resigned, Ironhide settled into his shocks, he would trust Annabelle, he would, he really would, wouldn't move, even though his internal proximity sensors were pinging in an annoying and persistent fashion within his audio receptors.

Two and a half inches…two inches…one and half…one inch…

"Annabelle!" It was the sound of her father's voice calling her from the front porch that galvanized Annabelle to at last step down on the brake, halting her progress, "You forgot your lunch."

"Oh…lunch, right!" Flustered, Annabelle began searching Ratchet's door panel for the window switch while Lennox carried over her lunch box—a bright pink tin with a grinning cartoon bumblebee on it, a childhood favorite she wasn't quite ready to give up yet—and stood waiting patiently at Ratchet's window. Over the sound of her rolling down said window, Ironhide's small ex-vent went unheard as he slowly and cautiously rolled up the drive, widening the space between himself and Ratchet to a comfortable and safe distance once more. Crisis averted, but only just.

"Be safe you two," to his credit, Lennox kept his expression completely neutral as he handed his exuberant daughter her lunch, "It's your mother's meatloaf," he added to Annabelle with a smirk.

"Great, you won't eat it, so I have to?"

"I never said that…" Lennox leaned through the window, giving his daughter a quick peck on the cheek before he stepped back, rapping his knuckles against Ratchet's hood as he moved, his voice lower and considerably more sober as he addressed the Autobots."We'll see you...later." He waved to them as Annabelle guided Ratchet out of the driveway—this time without the danger of knocking into Ironhide—and then around the corner. Once they had pulled out of view, Lennox approached Ironhide, draping his elbow over the weapons specialist's side door mirror.

"So…" the solider began.

"Yes? You have something to say?" Ironhide rumbled.

Lennox let himself give in to the amusement he had been holding in and grinned broadly, "I saw that…"

"Hrrump…"

"She didn't actually hit you, did she?"

"Of course not…I was never in any danger."

"That I don't believe, but I'll let you have this one considering your escapade last night."

"Hrrump…"

"Sarah told me… said you had that little lesson planned."

"I had no such intention. You humans are far too suspicious for your own good."

"Hey now, it would be for my benefit if I was more suspicious, especially around you lot…in fact, if I had been more suspicious I wouldn't have fallen for that last prank—"

"I do not know what you are referring to—"

"Oh, yes you do! That last one with the pink paint ball pellets? Prime cornered the Twins, and in their confession they had a great deal to say regarding your participation."

"Again, I do not have the slightest idea of what incident you are referring to."

Lennox chuckled again, "Right, right…" Sobering, the well-worn soldier readjusted his perch against the sleek Topkick, "Hey, so Prime contacted me this morning…"

Immediately Ironhide gave the solider his entire focus as they turned their attention to more serious matters at hand, knowing where Lennox's mind now journeyed, "Yes, he informed me of the incursion as well. Bumblebee and Jolt were on hand and were able to handle the situation without too much trouble. It is nothing to be overtly concerned about, Major. I was expecting as much to happen sooner rather than later."

Absorbing Ironhide's words, Lennox nodded, "Is Bumblebee going to be ok? What was the damage?"

"A few mesh wounds, nothing serious, but certainly in need of repairs and attention soon. Between Prime and Jolt, Bumblebee was able to receive initial repairs."

"When is Ratchet going to head out?"

"After he conveys Annabelle to school."

Again, Lennox nodded, dwelling on the implications of the attack. As much as he loved his daughter, his duty to the unit and to the bots came first in situations like these. Here, his instincts as a commander were roaring at the forefront of his consciousness, urging him to head back to base with all speed. Unaware, Lennox reflexively stood straighter, crossing his arms as he analyzed the situation and what little information Prime had given him. What he wanted, needed to be, was back on base, back where he could see Bumblebee for himself, see and know that the eager young bot was ok, wasn't in any immediate danger.

"Call Ratchet, ask him if he could head back here after he drops Annabelle off at school. I'll be ready to go by the time he gets back, that way we can all head back to base together..."

"That will not be necessary, Major."

" 'Hide, I should be back at base for this...like, now."

"Major, this, by all our understanding, was an isolated incident. And, in the event it is not, the only place I would want to be is right here, with you and your family, where I know I can protect you."

Though he took comfort from Ironhide's words, Lennox was still not entirely convinced, "...Look, this whole thing with Annabelle and her driving test, we can finish it later, I think-"

"-Major, I am confident that Prime has everything in hand, and since we have already begun her training there is no reason why we should not finish it. Once Ratchet leaves, I would be happy to fill in until his replacement arrives tomorrow."

" Another bot is coming out tomorrow? Is that necessary? I don't feel we should spare any more bots away from base than we really need-"

"Major."

"It's just that Annabelle's exam doesn't need to be a priority for you guys-"

"Major, Prime gave you his word that we will help you, and once he promises to do something, usually not even Unicron the Destroyer can stop him from fulfilling that promise."

Right. Lennox had forgotten how serious Prime took promises, no matter how insignificant they were. He took a deep, cleansing breath in, willing his muscles to relax. If Prime and Ironhide both weren't concerned about the incursion, then he wouldn't be either. Drumming his knuckles against Ironhide's door panel in acceptance, Lennox at last gave in, "Thanks 'Hide…I really do appreciate you filling in for Ratchet."

Ironhide gave an approving rumble from his engine, "We will make a proper driver out of her yet."


	6. It's A Date!

When her school bell rang, releasing her from yet another Chemistry class, Annabelle found herself in a decidedly better mood. That morning had gone well, better in fact that she had expected. Not only did she avoid any more point deductions, but Ratchet had been kinder, more open, even conversational. She had let him talk, bringing up topics he was comfortable about. And he hadn't minded her travel mug of tea either. She was actually looking forward to the drive home, looking forward to chatting with Ratchet more. After retrieving necessary books from her locker, Annabelle headed toward the parking lot with light steps, scanning the first row for the familiar stocky, yellow Hummer. She looked...and looked...and looked. Her stomach did an odd backflip when instead, her gaze alighted on the hulking black Topkick parked precisely where Ratchet had been. Happiness at seeing her guardian warred with confusion and disappointment: had Ratchet given up on her after all?

Bitter and sweet, her mind in a whirl, she dug in her backpack for her keys, buying herself a few moments to organize her conflicted emotions. So lost within her own head was she that Annabelle failed to hear when another classmate called her name. It wasn't until there was a light touch on her shoulder that Annabelle realized someone had spoken to her.

"Annabelle...?"

She jumped, her blonde ponytail bobbing as her gaze snapped up to focus on the speaker, "Oh...oh hi, Logan." A faint blush crept up on her cheeks when she realized how close he stood beside her. Quiet and kind, she had always liked Logan, though given that he was on the football team, Annabelle had never hoped her crush would ever develop beyond just that: a helpless crush. "How...um, how are you?" Nervous butterflies crowded her stomach, tripped up her tongue. Reflexively she began to walk over to the Topkick, giddy relief flowing through her when Logan followed.

He treated her to a warm, genuine smile as he walked beside her, "I'm good, just getting ready to head out to practice..."

"Right, right...practice, that's cool."

When his hazel eyes met hers she grinned automatically, lost within the trill that he was actually talking to her, Annabelle didn't notice where she was walking and after a handful of steps bummed into the Topkick's chrome bumper. Again, a flush, a growing warmth crept into her cheeks, "Whoops..."

He smiled at her again, "Careful now, that's a decked out ride, you wouldn't want to scratch it and piss off the owner."

"Oh, oh it's my car."

His eyebrows shot up into his forehead, "No way? This is your ride? It's kick ass!"

"Um, we'll actually it's my Uncle's...but he's letting me...um...borrow it..but, thanks..."

"You have a pretty chill uncle then, I know if my uncle had a sweet ride like that, no way would he let me near it."

"Yeah, he is a pretty chill uncle," Annabelle smiled at the truck, before moving to casually lean against the front grill as she wrapped her arms around her Chemistry book.

"That's cool..." He slipped his hands into his pockets, as a brief silence fell between them, "um...hey look, some friends and I were going to go to the movies Friday and I was wondering if you wanna go with me?"

To Annabelle's credit, she didn't jump up and down in her excitement, didn't blurt out her acceptance, but instead paused thoughtfully and after tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, nodded casually, "Yeah...sure," her tone impressively calm and cool, "sounds like it could be fun."

"Sweet...how does around eight o'clock sound?"

"Sure, sure."

"Awesome, thanks Annabelle, see you then?"

"Yup."

"Oh hey, would you mind driving? I don't have a car...my older brother drives me around...and seeing as you have such a sweet ride..."

Now Annabelle did actually hesitate, "Um...yeah, I just need to ask my uncle if he would mind me borrowing the car then...but it should be ok..."

He grinned again, "Thanks Annabelle." Digging a pen out of his pocket, he reached forward for her free hand, turning it palm up he carefully wrote his number in her palm. When he finished he offered the pen to her, holding out his own hand expectantly, "Could I have your number? That way I can call you with my address?"

Once more, Annabelle surprised herself with her outwardly calm demeanor, "of course..." After she followed suit, she handed the pen back to him.

"Thanks, Annabelle...see you later."

"See you then..." She waved meekly as he headed towards the front of the school building where no doubt his aforementioned brother waited to pick him up. He turned around one last time to echo her wave and send her off with a smile. Only when he was out of sight did Annabelle trust herself to turn back to the Topkick, fumbling with the door handle, she at last found herself in the drivers seat, her backpack safely stowed in the passenger's seat. Before she could even so much as buckle herself in, to say nothing of touch the steering wheel, the engine turned over with a thick, throaty growl. At the sound all of her giddy, lightheaded happiness evaporated as her previous conflicted emotions descended upon her with a vengeance.

"Hey 'Hide..."

"Spark-mite." He returned easily as they pulled out of the parking space and then the lot. Though her hands were on the wheel she couldn't rightly tell who was actually driving, rather she felt as though she was just going through the motions.

Not one to beat around the bush, Ironhide cut straight to the source of her nerves, "Ratchet was called back to base."

So he had left her then. All Annabelle could manage was a deflated, "Oh..."

Knowing where her assumptions no doubt led, Ironhide was surprisingly quick to explain, "His return to base has nothing to do with you, spark-mite."

Numb, she nodded, "Ok...but why couldn't he at least tell me he was leaving?"

"He did not?"

"No."

"Hrumph..." Ironhide grumbled in his engine, "Well...he no doubt did not want to worry you and thus distract you from your studies."

"Hang on, worry me about what?" Hurt feelings evaporated, as the hard rock of fear settled in her stomach, "Has something happened?"

"Nothing that we could not handle."

"And what is _that _supposed to mean?"

Not deaf to the anxiousness that clouded her voice, Ironhide reluctantly explained, keeping well in mind that she was just a sparkling, "There was a Decepticon incursion, which Bumblebee and Jolt intercepted—"

"Were they hurt? Are they ok?" Annabelle's voice squeaked in alarm; instantly her imagination conjured up hulking nightmarish figures, emblazoned with the Decepticon symbols—a design both Ironhide and her father had made sure she recognized and knew what to do should she ever see one—sulking forward, threatening Bee, her Bumblebee. Granted, she had never actually seen a Deception first hand—something that her father was only too glad of and did his utmost to ensure—but her young and very active imagination had no trouble conjuring up frightful monstrosities.

"They are fine, spark-mite. Bumblebee only sustained minor injuries."

"_Minor _injuries?!"

Ironhide spent the rest of their drive home, reassuring Annabelle; one Decepticon was certainly not out of Bumblebee's abilities to cope with. Though, he might have preferred the Decepticon to the torrent of anxieties that his teenage charge was intent upon voicing. Yet as the battle with her fears came to a close, when he pulled up the driveway another, unlooked for battle waited for him in the form of Lennox, who stood waiting, arms crossed, a frown creasing his features.

Annabelle was out of her seat and out of the door before Ironhide could pull to a complete stop, "Is everything ok? More Decepticons? Bee ok?"

Giving her a reassuring peck on the top of her head, Lennox scooped her into a brief, but tight hug, before motioning for her to go inside, "Everything is fine, Jelly Belle. I just need to talk with Ironhide for a minute." With a meek smile and wave back at the Topkick that was subdued by her nerves, Annabelle did as her father asked.

"Major." From the human soldier's stance alone, Ironhide knew within his spark that this conversation was between warriors rather than friends. With a curt nod, Lennox reached into his back pocket where he had a rolled copy of the newspaper. Silently he unrolled it and waited for Ironhide to transform, before he held it up for the Autobot to see.

Ironhide's bright blue optics scanned over the article's image of a campground ringed with various trailers and cars, all smashed and torn to metal ribbons and fragments.

"It says that the damage is being attributed to bears." Lennox's voice was even and flat, devoid of emotion.

"Were there any human causalities?"

"None reported."

"Witnesses?"

Lennox let out a gusty sigh, "None. All of the equipment and vehicles belonged to one family, and apparently they were out hiking at the time." He rattled the page, "This is what they came back to."

Ironhide flickered his optics over to his stern faced companion, "You do not believe this was done by bears?"

Lennox lifted an eyebrow, "Do you?"

Ironhide exvented in derision, and Lennox bobbed his head in agreement, "Yeah, that's what I thought….Look, Ironhide…this campground isn't terribly far from here…"

"And you fear for the safety of your family."

Wringing the newspaper through his hands, Lennox nodded again, "I've already contacted Optimus…"

Now it was Ironhide's turn to tilt an optic ridge upward, "…You are unhappy with the answer that Prime gave you?"

"He said he would be in contact."

"No other orders?"

"No…not at the moment…"Lennox seemed to be anything but happy.

"Hrump…" Ironhide shuffled back a step and once more slid into his terrestrial guise.

"Ironhide, I can't just wait around. What we need to do—"

"—is wait until Prime contacts either myself or you."

"You mean to tell me that this—" here he shook the rather crumpled paper at the Topkick for emphasis, "—doesn't bother you? You and I both know this is as good as a Decepticon footprint! How can you just sit and wait—"

"Because I trust, Prime's judgment."

Well…not much he could say to that.

Ironhide exvented again, "Major…as soon as Ratchet's replacement arrives, you and I will go and see these campgrounds for ourselves…but in the meantime, we wait."

"Alright…" Lennox didn't have to like it, but at least they had a plan.

As he turned to go inside, the sound of Ironhide's voice called him back, "Major?" This time the Autobot's tone was lighter, "There is some intel that I've gathered recently that I think you should hear about."

"Intel?" Lennox backtracked to the sleek truck's side once more, "What's up?"

"Before I conveyed Annabelle from her school, she had a conversation with a classmate…"

Lennox shrugged, "Ok, she has a lot of friends—"

"It was a _boy_." This last word was spoken in several octaves lower than his normal speaking timber.

"A boy?" Lennox asked, all keen attention, "Go on…"


End file.
